The White Wood Forest
by Valainstima
Summary: Set in the 1800s in England. Alfred cracks and in fear of the repercussions of his actions he must flee. Taking Mathew with him will they succeed in exiting the forest? Or will they perish? Hinted UsCan. Rated T for violence.


**The White-Wood Forest**

Blood dripped from the dagger, some even making its way down Alfred's wrist, creating trails of crimson fluid that was not his own but the now deceased body that he stood above. Sapphire eyes widened in realization as to what he had done. Alfred's knees wobbled, soon collapsing to the hard wooden floor. The blood that had pooled around the corpse now reached his knees, staining his brown and dirty pants a deep shade of red. The blonde boy's hands shook violently, dropping the small dagger to the floor. Disbelief, shock, utter horror: those were the words that could describe Alfred's emotions at this point in time. Strangely enough though, of all those emotions, relief was the most prominent. Liberation. He was free. Alfred had obtained what he had wanted for years, freedom. The proof was displayed right in front of him. It was the corpse. The corpse of Alice Jones, Alfred's mother.

Alice Jones was a terrible mother. She tormented her son, day in and day out, yelling, screaming at him through drunken slurs and hazy eyes. Since the death of Alfred's father, she's been drinking her weight in whiskey and ale. It was uncommon for women to drink this particular variety of liquor, most preferring fine wines, but Alice choose to go against the status quo. Due to her obscene drinking habits, Alice was in debt. She barely had enough money for food much less liquor. In order to pay said debts, she forced her son to become the apprentice of the local blacksmith. Alfred detested the work, and made it clear to his mother how he felt about the situation. Her immediate response would always amount to screams and accusations of his incompetence. Alice did her best to cripple her son's ego every chance she got. She taunted him and pointed out his every flaw on a regular basis, simply to torture him.

Alfred tries his best not to speak of his mother's actions to the other townspeople, although most had already guessed it from the yelling the neighborhood frequently heard in the night. Alfred never spoke of his hatred toward his mother, never a sour word to anyone except his best friend Matthew. It had been three years since Matthew's family had moved to the English countryside from France, and ever since, Alfred and Matthew had been attached by the hip. They confided every secret into one another, exploring the town regularly, even enjoying the occasional game of catch. Every person in town knew; if you saw one, the other was never far. That was just how it goes, a constant in the small town, like the rising and falling of the sun.

Alice knew this and she absolutely hated it. To be truthful, she hated everything about Matthew. His hair, his smile, his polite attitude, everything Alfred loved about Matthew, she hated. All of this is true because of one reason and one reason only. It was because Matthew was French. As a proud Englishwoman, Alice was repulsed by the French. Even if they were a person breed with only good intent, if they were French she hated them. She would make snide remarks about the boy and his family, making here distain clear.

Alfred despised her most for that. The yelling and drinking he could handle, but in his eyes, anyone who disliked Matthew was the immediate enemy. To him, Matthew was the near perfect kind of person. Kind and polite to most, but able to defend himself if necessary. It was interesting actually to see him walk about and speak such kind words to other people, because Alfred knew the actual Matthew. The Matthew that was somewhat snarky and had a laugh that could make even the stoniest hearted men, crack a smile. He admired Matthew. No matter what his mother would say, Alfred would always sneak out to see Matthew. Usually, he would ignore his mother's remarks against Matthew, but it wasn't until the day she actually threatened to forbid him from seeing Matthew, that Alfred snapped. It wasn't until that day that he actually held his dagger with a rage. It wasn't until that day that he decided that maybe his mother just didn't deserve to live.

Alfred ran out his house, bursting from the door like a caged animal, going directly to the one place he could call sanctuary. He was going to Matthew's house of course. The other boy lived not too far, so getting to his friend house was no real problem for a teenager like Alfred, all muscle and pale skin with wild blue eyes and a mop of blonde hair. In minutes, Alfred was in the backyard of the other male's house. It was too much of a risk to go through the front, or else he may wake up Matthew's parents. Knowing full well that the window behind the house was to his friend's room, Alfred used that knowledge to his advantage and began to call softly through the window to the other. It took a good minute of soft calls for Matthew to actually awaken and come to the window. He looked tired, his wispy strawberry blonde hair in frenzy, and his lilac eyes half lidded.

He gave Alfred an unamused look and said groggily, "Alfred, do you have any idea what time it is?"

Alfred almost smiled at that. Many a time had he come at the dead of night to see his friend. The familiar annoyance in Matthew's voice warmed his heart and eased his frayed mind.

"Matthew, I need your help." Alfred said, his voice waving the slightest bit.

The other blonde quirked a brow. "Help with what? It's past midnight."

He had noticed the add tone in his best friend's voice and it brought up a feeling of concern. He decided against mentioning it though, in case it wasn't a big deal.

"I killed my mother," Alfred blurted. His blunt reply made Matthew's eyes widen in shock.

Now fully awake, Matthew stammered out, "What do you mean? You can't be serious, Al that's not funny."

Alfred gave a sigh. He knew his friend too well to know that he wouldn't believe such a thing without any convincing. His hands were still shaking and the blood on his pants had dried to a crusty brown, although in the darkness of the night Matthew couldn't see that. He didn't see that Alfred's hands were still red from the blood. Perhaps if he did, then maybe he would believe his friend.

"Mattie, I killed her." Tears began to roll down Alfred's pale cheeks. "I killed my mother, what am I supposed to do?"

Despite the darkness, the lilac eyed boy could still see the tears that leaked from his best friend's eyes. It was at that point that Matthew pushed aside his skepticism. Climbing out of his window and landing directly in front of Alfred, Matthew pulled him into a tight hug as the older boy began to cry.

"Tell me everything." Matthew said in a soft whisper.

Through broken sobs and soft whispers of comfort, Alfred managed to tell him what had happened. He told him about all the blood and how loud she screamed. He told him how he said he hated her. Alfred told Matthew everything, just as he had asked. Matthew took every word in, hugging the golden locked boy and comforting him in every way he could. He had no idea as to what he should say other than it'd be okay, but even then, he wasn't so sure if it was true.

"Mattie, come with me."

Matthew looked up to Alfred, puzzled. "What?"

Alfred brought up a hand and wiped away a stray tear from his own face. "I need you to run away with me. I can't do it without you, Mattie. I can't do this alone."

Matthew hesitated to respond. He couldn't just leave. He had his father to worry about; his mother couldn't take care of the bed ridden man alone. At least that's what she said. She talked to people about how helpless she'd be without her precious, little Matthew. She claimed it was too much work for her to help his father, but this truth is that she never tried. No, instead Matthew was the one who cared for his father in his fragile state. He never mentioned a thing because it was his father, but it enraged him that his mother was such a liar, and a lazy one at that. On top of all that, this was Alfred. His best friend, his brother in arms. Alfred needed him like Matthew needed Alfred and in such a distraught state how could he deny him? He needed to be there for the one person that he trusted with his life. That was what best friends do. Alfred and Matthew were a prime example of true friendship, anyone could tell you that.

Nodding slowly, Matthew agreed, hugging Alfred even tighter. "OK, Alfred. I'll stay with you, I promise. But we need to leave the town now. They would find us otherwise."

Alfred nodded. "We can't leave through the town's entrance; they could find us along the main road out." He swallowed. "I…I think we need to go through the forest, Mattie."

"What?" Matthew cried. "What's wrong with you? That's suicide!"

In his desperation, Alfred gripped Matthew's shoulders. "There's no other way! We can't leave town any other way without getting caught Matthew."

Matthew opened his mouth about the protest. Until he realized Alfred was right. The forest bordered the majority of the town and the entrance was a definite no. The forest was their only chance.

"OK, fine. We'll go through the forest. We'll need a few supplies through won't we? Food and stuff? I'll go inside and get some, OK?"

Alfred nodded. "Yeah, we will. Oh, and Mattie?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

* * *

Bordering the town of Bathory, in which Alfred and Matthew lived, there was a forest. This forest was dubbed the White-Wood Forest, for the patch of white trees that grew in a circle in its center. It is said that these trees, which glow in the night, had sap that was liquid gold. Other's said that the sap could cure any disease imaginable. It is also said that because of such treasures that the forest held were so desirable, that the large pack of silver furred wolves roamed about the forest to protect such a treasure form intruders. All of these stories of the forest are simply speculation, but the facts remain. None have entered this forest and left it. Such mystical speculations have attracted foreigners to the town, in search of the riches of the forest only to find their deaths.

All of these things have made the townspeople wary of the forest, none daring to enter. They are why Alfred and Matthew hesitated before, walking into the forest, packs dangling from their shoulders. It's why Matthew nearly screamed when he heard a twig snap, only to find it was simply Alfred. After an hour of wondering through the forest, not really knowing how far they've gone or how close they were to the other end, that Matthew's hands began to shake. The trees' shade called for total darkness, broad leaves blacking out the moonlight. Even so, Alfred could sense this distress. He reached out and took Matthew's hand.

"Come on, Mattie. Let's try to get out of this place now and then we can rest, OK?"

Matthew nodded, clutching the hand tightly.

"OK, Alfred."

Three more hours passed without any sightings of wolves. At this point, fear had crept up to both boys, each terrified. Their feet were tired and their eyes stung from the lack of sleep. Even so, they continued to walk, afraid that if they stopped, the wolves would come for them in their sleep. A rush of cold air hit Alfred's face, making him shiver. The hand that was still within his, squeezed tight, as Matthew took in a gasp.

"Alfred, look."

Puzzled, Alfred looked to his friend. Matthew was facing directly forward, not even paying him any mind. The blue eyed teen furrowed his eyebrows, looking in the same direction, in hopes to find what had captivated his companion's attention. A bright white light, shone in the distance. Alfred's eyes widened and it was at that moment that he knew where they were. They were at the center. The center of the forest, where the white-wood trees glowed in the night. The center of the forest, where the wolves lurked. A piercing howl sounded behind them and Alfred took that as the signal to run.

Dashing forward, Alfred dragged Matthew with him, turning with each tree in their way. They didn't dare to look back as they ran, too afraid that they'd see the silver fur and crumble in fear. Their feet almost gave out until they had run into the light. The light of the white trees. In their panicked frenzy, they climbed a thick white tree, the thickest one in the circle of white trees, Matthew going up first. Once he had settled a top a thick branch high off the ground Alfred took his turn to begin climbing. The second he took his foot off the ground, Alfred could see a glimmer of silver in the corner of his eye. Muttering a curse, he began to climb faster, reaching out to the hand that Matthew held out for him.

Their hands met again and Matthew hoisted the taller boy up to the branch, safely away from the wolves. Gasping for breath, the two blondes huddled lose together. Far down below, the pack of wolves had assembled themselves so that they circumscribed the tree. They stared patiently at the boys with cold, dark eyes. After five minutes of complete silence, it began to dawn upon the two boys that they were probably not going to live. The wolves were not moving, they sat there like statues, silver fur shimmering n the light of the glowing trees, like armor. Soft sobs escaped Matthew's lips in this realization, lilac eyes turned moist. Even in his own despair, Alfred pulled him into a one armed hug, hushing away the tears.

"Matthew, it's going to be alright." Alfred whispered, although he knew full well his words were false.

"You're wrong. Al, we're going to die." Matthew's words were laced with chocked sobs, his face going red with sorrow.

"No, please don't say that. Please, Matthew, don't say that." He couldn't take it. His best friend had just given up all hope; he couldn't be the only one who was tried to hold on.

Matthew simply shook his head in response, burying his face into Alfred's shoulder, his tears now staining shirt. Alfred tried to hold back a sob himself, resting his chin onto the top of Matthew's head. He rocked him slowly back and forth, whispering soft words of comfort into his ear, just as Matthew had done for him earlier. Every movement they made was on display for the pack below, their eyes never leaving the couple. Of course, Alfred knew this. He could feel their eyes, stare into his soul. He scanned the ground briefly, looking to find that there was not one spot where the wolves were not occupying that could assure them another start at running. Then he saw something else. The white tree that stood directly in his peripheral vision looked as if it was swaying. In fact, once he looked around, all of the trees were swaying in the moonlight. The trunk leaned back and forth, like a metronome. In his confusion and fear, he held Matthew closer, not wanting him to see lest he become even more racked with terror, just as he was now. In the bases of the trunks were the roots began sink into the soil, he began to see ghostly faces in the bark, the faces of those who dared to destroy the white trees. Alfred took in a sudden gasp when he saw a face in mid-scream, its mouth howling inaudibly. Matthew had noticed his friend's, change in posture, his back rigid and his hands gripping him even tighter.

"Al? Is something wrong?"

Alfred was about to reply until the branch on the tree that they were seated upon, suddenly broke. They fell in a duet of screams, their voices hoarse. Alfred landed on his back with Matthew on top of him and he groaned. Arms still around a panicked and frightened Matthew he rolled them over to their sides. At the point, the wolves got up to stand, slowly approaching their prey.

Alfred gave Matthew a wary smile. They were about to die, but at the very least he had Matthew at his side. He couldn't ask for anyone else.

"Hey, Mattie?"

Matthew looked up to him, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Yes?"  
"Thanks for being my best friend."

Matthew paused and laughed. "No problem. Thanks for being mine, too."

Alfred smiled and pulled him close again, tears seeping from his eyes as well. He gave a sigh, and whispered soft of comfort to Matthew, and Matthew did the same to him. Soft words of comfort shared, and then the wolves were upon them.

* * *

Years later, an Australian traveler had entered the town. He claimed that he was going to be the first to go into the White-Wood Forest and survive. Of course, no one believed him. Still determined, he went into the forest with nothing but his rifle. The townspeople had a laugh that night, speaking of the dumb foreigner who went into the forest. These laughs were the silenced when the morning came and the strange man had returned with stories to tell. He told of the swaying trees and the wolves that guarded them and he told them how dark the forest became at night. Everyone asked how he escaped alive, but he never said a word about it. All he would say on it was that it was a secret between him and the spirits. So many stories to tell but one he told with frequency.

"See now good people, I will tell you of the most beautiful thing that I found in the forest." He would begin, but each time he was interrupted.

"Was it the gold? Did you find the gold?" They asked.

The man would but shake his head. "I found no gold. But what I found was greater."

Then he would go on to tell the story of the two white trees he found, side by side, their branches intertwined. He'd say, that if one stood close enough, they could hear the soft words that they whispered to one another, the bark lines on the trunks, shaped almost to a smile.


End file.
